November 13, 2009

The Parish

Their skin has peeled back like wallpaper. Gore, cartilage, flesh.

The reek of death.

Bile, disgust and terror brew in my stomach.

I stumble from the bottom stair.
Their eyes dart to me and they gasp through their corrupted lungs.

Brackish blood spatters as I shove through the bodies.
A hand catches my wrist. So I scream. Bone fingers slither up my arm, wrenching me back.

“Welcome to the Pandemic.”




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